


The Bitter End

by froznmangos



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Battle, F/F, First Kiss, Friendship, Garreg Mach Monastery (Fire Emblem)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:01:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22342234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froznmangos/pseuds/froznmangos
Summary: After months of battling, the church's troops have been thinned significantly. Hilda and the rest of Golden Deer press on and continue to fight, stealing what moments they can off the battle field.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Kudos: 6





	The Bitter End

Hilda groaned. "Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of this skirt?" She received no response. The imperial knight laid lifeless at her feet, a cavernous wound spilling blood above his shoulder blade. She swung her axe into a sheath over her shoulder and removed her leather gloves as she walked over to the rest of her classmates. Her hands were fair and she had meticulously painted her fingernails rose-colored that morning. Above her wrist, her arms were mostly dark red, where blood was beginning to dry. She hated the metallic smell that filled the air after a battle. She could taste it. She wouldn't taste anything else for days.  
Her classmates cheered as she walked over to them. She thought about running the rest of the way, but her legs were heavy and God forbid any one of them saw that she cared to work harder than she needed to. She would be doing chores for days. "Finally, I thought we would never be able to get out of here," Claude teased as she reached the group. She gave him a good shove, to which he responded by pulling her into his chest for a hug. His tunic was, for the most part, clean of blood (other than his own). Sometimes she regretted not taking up archery. She imagined herself being able to ride in the back of the group into battle, occasionally sniping the pesky soldier that broke through their ranks. What a life. Like Claude, Hilda's brother was also an archer. Not as much now, but when they were children he had become quite proficient at archery and truly loved it. Knowing she would never live up to any activity her brother participated in, young Hilda began mastering axe throwing. As soon as she could hold a larger axe, she began training in close combat.  
The walk back to Garreg Mach was going to be exhausting. When they arrived at the closest village they would be able to take a horse-drawn cart up to the monastery. Though it was near impossible to see her emotion, Hilda could tell the Professor was spent. The Professor's shoulders were rolled forward, slumped, and her hands laid limply in her lap. The Sword of the Creator leaned against the bench next to her in the cart. The only other relic Hilda had seen was the one her father had used while he was alive. Maybe she took up axe wielding hoping to one day fight with the same instrument her beloved father had. Her father, who had trained her, encouraged her to be a fighter, expected greatness from her.  
Back at the monastery, the sun had set. Moonlight and friends from other houses greeted the group as they walked through the front gate. Hilda loved this part. The glory. The reminder that she was achieving greatness the way her father and brother expected. However, it only softened the blow of the casualties they had faced during battle. She held her bandaged arm that had been grazed by an imperial sword.  
"We thank you for your service," Archbishop Rhea declared, as she did each time a class returned from a mission. Rhea's white dress was a stark reminder of her absence among the bloodshed. The Golden Deer's members were painted in vibrant reds over their armor and skin. Rhea's gratitude did not bring back their friends, the children that were going to battle each month for the church. Though she knew Claude felt the same, they would never speak these words. They had duties to fulfill and friends to protect. They had to choose the lesser evil and they had made their decision.  
As with each month, a banquet was held to celebrate the victories of the church. And each month, less tables were set out and the dance floor was a little bit larger. Lorenz asked Hilda to dance and she agreed. Hilda loved to dance. Her feet moved swiftly like they did in battle, stepping back to dodge a blow, stepping forward to attack. But here, instead of engaging in combat, she laughed and attempted something similar to merriment. When she stepped forward, she came up on her toes and her nose met Lorenz's lips. She gazed at him as they spun around on the dance floor. His angular face, his sense of duty wound into the tightness of his mouth. They danced to prove to themselves that things were better than they were, and they were almost convincing enough.  
After her dance with Lorenz, Hilda found her way to the balcony outside the dining hall. She leaned against the railing and tried to remember past banquets. Only a few months ago, she had practically fallen out of the dining room door onto the same balcony because of the number of students that packed inside the room. The music was joyful and bounced off all the walls of Garreg Mach. She had picked out a nice dress for the occasion and made a point to dance with every student who would join her. When her feet were sore, she kicked off her heels and felt the wooden floor beneath her toes. Claude and Lorenz wooed women and Hilda tried to be the best wingman she could. At the end of the night, the three friends departed to their rooms. Claude carried Hilda's strappy shoes between two fingers and, with his other arm, supported Lorenz who could count on two hands how many glasses of wine he consumed. Hilda walked beside them, laughing, teasing, feeling lucky for the life she had built at Garreg Mach.  
There would be no laughing or teasing tonight. The church's troops had suffered incomparable losses and all of the students and faculty could feel the emptiness in the room. Looking over the edge of the balcony, Hilda didn't see or hear Marianne step out onto the balcony. Marianne had mastered the art of staying unseen, out of the center of attention. She sipped her glass of white wine on the edges of the banquet hall, dodging invitations to dance or eat. She saw Hilda duck out of the hall into the night, presumably to get some air, and when she did not return, Marianne thought to go check on her.  
"Are you okay?" Marianne's voice was so soft and so quiet, yet one would've thought she shouted those three words. Hilda quickly about-faced and reflexively reached over her shoulder for where her axe was usually sheathed. She also began reaching for the throwing axe that, even now at the banquet, she kept on her belt. But once she saw Marianne, her hands dropped to her side.  
"It's just me!" Marianne held her arms up, wheels of light flowed from her to form a shield separating the two girls. The tension in Hilda's shoulders relaxed and her face rested into a soft smile.  
"I am sorry, Marianne," Hilda said, hoping Marianne didn't run off like she sometimes would. Marianne lowered her arms and the light fizzled out. "Please come join me out here. It's too stuffy in there." She knew she always had to extend the invitation out to Marianne or else she would not believe she was truly welcomed company. Faced with the options of going back into the banquet hall or stay out under the stars with Hilda, Marianne chose the latter. She approached Hilda and put her hand up on the balcony. Despite the comfort that Marianne provided, Hilda could feel her unease creeping back into her shoulders. Sensing this. Marianne turned and grabbed Hilda's hand in between both of her own. She allowed her healing energy to flow through her arms, through her fingertips and into Hilda's outstretched hand. Hilda felt her lungs open up and she gasped for a breath. Clarity returned to her and the day's events faded from the forefront of her thoughts. Her focus narrowed onto Marianne, standing in front of her in the moonlight.  
"Marianne," Hilda whispered. Marianne opened her eyes and met Hilda's stare. She's so beautiful, Hilda thought. In all their years of being friends and classmates, she had never taken the time to notice how lovely Marianne was. Her arms and hands were graceful and delicate, yet they held Hilda's hand with strength and purpose. Marianne's magic gave Hilda newfound energy. She pulled Marianne in towards her, wrapping her arms around her waist greeting her lips with her own. Marianne's eyes opened wider with surprise before settling closed. Her hands, which she held awkwardly out to the sides of her, moved to Hilda's neck, her thumbs resting behind Hilda's ears as she held her there in that moment.  
Hilda was not thinking about the earlier battle's violence. The blood that was spilled on both sides. The friends they lost. The lives she took. Instead, she thought about Marianne. The way she closed her eyes whenever she smiled or laughed. The way she believed in her friends more than she would ever believe in herself. How, despite being severely clumsy, still managed to uphold an air of grace. She knew the energy it took for Marianne to calm her spirit and clear her mind. Parting her lips from Marianne's, she thanked her.  
"Don't mention it," the corners of Marianne's lips lifted into a smile and her eyes closed momentarily. The girls were still chest to chest. Marianne's hands traveled down Hilda's neck to sit atop her shoulder blades. Hilda continued to hold Marianne's waist tightly, as if she might evaporate before her at any moment. "You should still get some rest, Hil." Her voice was so soft it barely registered. Hilda lowered her forehead against Marianne's.  
"I am so tired of fighting," she said almost under her breath. Marianne stroked Hilda's face with one hand.  
"I know, Hil, I know."  
The day after a battle was typically a rest day for the soldiers. Many were in the infirmary and others still needed to heal mentally and emotionally with whatever limited time they could get. This morning, however, was ushered in by panic and shouting outside Hilda's room at the monastery. The sun had not yet begun its ascent over the cathedral tower. Someone pounding their fist against her door startled Hilda.  
"Hilda, open your door, we have to get going. Word just came in that troops are approaching from the east wall of Garreg Mach, we must protect the walls of the monastery." Hilda, still in her nightgown, opened the door to a breathless Claude. "I will meet you at the front."  
They must have planned this, Hilda thought to herself. They must have known we would be low in troops and celebrating our victory. We are vulnerable. She dropped her nightgown to the floor and suited up into her armor. Her axes leaned against the wall, not having been cleaned yet from the last battle. She slipped her throwing axe onto her belt and a much larger, blood-stained axe into its sheath on her back. Other students and soldiers were heading to the front gate where they would depart from. She pushed her way through the other soldiers until she reached Claude and the professor at the front of the group. Hilda looked around for Marianne, hoping that she was not going to be fighting alongside them this time. She felt a twinge of anxiety when she saw Marianne dressed in her robes, her hood pulled up over her braids.  
When it seemed like the troops were in formation, Hilda looked up at Claude. "Shall we go?"  
"After you," he bowed playfully and extended his arm out for her to walk ahead of him.  
Hilda rolled her eyes and pressed on. She really just wanted to get this battle over with. It was going to be a long day and her body was still aching from the last battle.  
There were more imperial soldiers than anticipated. As the monastery's troops approached the frontline, doubt swept through the ranks. This might be it. They had defended this fortress for years now. There was no turning back.  
"Ready?" Claude's playful nature had been exchanged for grave apprehension.  
Hilda nodded once. Claude raised his hand in view of their troops, signaling them to proceed forward into battle. Hilda charged ahead, a swarm of soldiers alongside her, slicing through the oncoming forces. She reached over her shoulder and, in one motion, took hold of her axe and brought it down onto an oncoming swordsman. She hated this part. It felt like a great deal of work and the faces of the soldiers haunted her dreams. Gems of sweat and blood glistened on her forehead as she looked around her for an opening to strike.  
As she scanned, she noticed Marianne's petite hands extended out in front of her, wheels of magic flowing from her to heal some soldiers who had gotten injured. Hilda was just about to turn away to continue her survey of the battlefield, when she caught site of a soldier running at Marianne's back. Hilda yelled out to her, but the clamor of the fighting drowned out any sound she could muster. Axe in hand, Hilda sprinted towards Marianne. She pushed past both monastery and imperial soldiers, occasionally using her axe to incapacitate a swordsman who lunged at her. As she drew near to where Marianne was standing, she dropped her axe and leapt to push her out of the way.  
"Hilda!" Claude's voice cracked with his outcry. He struggled to keep his footing as he rushed to her side. Marianne stumbled a few steps, having been shoved from behind. She turned her head to see Hilda and screamed.  
Hilda looked down at her chest. A gaping wound gushed bright red blood down her skirt and dripped onto her boots. There was no longer any noise from the battle going on around her. Her head felt light as she collapsed to her knees and then down onto her side. An arrow pierced the neck of the imperial soldier in front of her. The soldier who's blade was painted with her blood.  
Marianne fell to her knees beside her and placed her hands on her arm, attempting to focus all of her healing energy into Hilda. Tears displaced the blood on Hilda's arm, as they streamed down Marianne's cheek and dropped to Hilda's body. Claude sprinted over to where Hilda lay and fell hard to his knees to break his momentum. "I can't save her," Marianne sobbed, her hands still pressed into Hilda's arm. He grabbed Hilda's shoulders in both of his hands and pulled her body up to his chest.  
"Stay with me, Hil," Claude begged.  
Hilda's eyes fluttered open. Shaking violently, she put a hand to Claude's cheek and he placed a hand over hers to hold it there. Her breathing was labored and a small amount of blood trickled out the side of her mouth. "At least now, I don't have to fight anymore."  
She mustered up a smile before her hand fell limp to her side. Claude let out a guttural wail. He brought Hilda's lifeless body back up to his chest and held her there, a fountain of tears spilling onto Hilda's neck. When he placed her back down onto the ground, the front of his tunic was covered in her blood. From his knees, Claude shot two more soldiers approaching quickly toward him and Marianne. They stood back to back, a hurricane of pain and resentment. They were not able to save her. They might not even be able to win this war. But they would fight. Goddamn, they would fight until the bitter end.


End file.
